


Hey Nineteen

by wocket



Series: Yes And... [2]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, John Mulaney - Fandom, Oh Hello - Kroll & Mulaney, US Comedians RPF
Genre: College, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, September 11 Attacks, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 13:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket
Summary: It’s 2001, and John Mulaney is a sophomore in college. This is the story of how he falls even more in love with Nick Kroll.





	Hey Nineteen

“Welcome to New York.”

Nick Kroll moves to New York City after his graduation from Georgetown University as promised. When he opens the front door of his East Village apartment, John Mulaney is standing there, grinning. 

Nick looks down his hallway, then reaches out for Mulaney, grabbing his shirt and dragging him inside the apartment. A beat after Nick locks the deadbolt, John is pulling him into his arms for one of his trademark hugs, squeezing him so tight his heels rise up off the floor. Nick hugs him back just as hard. 

“It’s so good to see you, man,” John says warmly, somehow able to say shit like that. Nick’s missed John too, more than he ever thought he would, but he wouldn’t know how to tell him that if he tried.

John looks around the cozy apartment, taking everything in. It’s everything a shabby chic bachelor pad should be. Peeling wallpaper, wobbly fixtures, creaky wood windows that seemed to pop open of their own volition at any moment. John loves it immediately.

“Nick. This is great!”

Nick gives John the grand tour of New York City - the Kroll tour - once he settles in. He shows him around town, taking him to his usual hot spots and all of the places Nick thinks that he will get a kick out of. 

Nick walks with him down Fifth Avenue and over one more block on an instinctual whim, right past 30 Rockefeller Plaza.

“Is this -?” John breaths at the door, like it’s a chapel. 

“30 Rock,” Nick confirms, and John all but yanks him inside. “You know they’re not really going to let you in anywhere cool, right?”

“I just want to see,” John explains, and Nick doesn’t know what the hell he wants to look at, but John takes in just about everything, for some reason. He gazes at the Champlain marble on the walls, the mural stretching across the ceiling, the veined tile, whatever he can take in, even gazing at the security guard by the beveled bronze elevator banks so long that he starts to shift uncomfortably. “You know, we could both work here one day…” 

Nick bumps John with his elbow to keep him moving, and they explore a bit further.

They head down Sixth Avenue and buy gyros from a street vendor, stopping to eat in Central Park. “I can’t believe this is real,” John says admirably. Nick is living the dream. His dream, at least.

John and Nick spend the rest of the afternoon at the Met, paying as little as possible to get in with no shame whatsoever. The two of them take their time poking through each gallery. John catches Nick staring at him through display cases at least three separate times. He says nothing, but smiles and somehow feels more precious than any of the art hanging on the walls.

*

Nick figures out pretty quickly that John won’t be taking the steps down to the first floor every time he wants to smoke a cigarette. By his second or third smoke John figures out this position where he’s perched on the open windowsill, one lanky leg hanging out of Nick’s apartment and one leg stuck inside. It doesn’t look very comfortable, but it must be worth it, since John hops up there every time he wants a cigarette.

John leans his head against the frame of the window. There’s not much space left between the top of his head and the bottom of the window, as tall as he is. He seems to fit perfectly, cradled by the windowsill. 

Nick watches him like a voyeur, taking in every detail where the evening light silhouettes John’s angular frame. _But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and this asshole is the sun._

Eventually, John crawls down from the windowsill, and John and Nick lie on their backs in Nick’s bed, looking up at the ceiling as they listen to the new Shpongle album. A bottle of vodka sits between them, from which they take occasional swigs until the contents disappear.

“Tell me about New York,” John asks, looking over at Nick.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” John says. So Nick tells him about the little places he goes for lunch, the homeless guy that sits at the subway station that plays the keyboard with his feet, and the bicycle messenger he saw get hit by a car last week. He tells him everything, and John listens with fascination, dreaming of the day he can join Nick in New York City.

John has every intention of sleeping on the sofa, but ends up passing out in Nick’s bed anyway, drunk and sprawled on top of the covers. 

*

Nick wakes up on his 23rd birthday with John nestled against his side. Nick pushes him away from the crook of his arm before waking him with a whisper. 

“I’ve gotta go to work,” Nick says into John’s hair.

“Wait…” John says. “I have something for you. It’s not much, but…” John gets up and retrieves his backpack, digging something out. “Happy birthday,” he says, flinging it at Nick and climbing back in bed. 

It’s a very square, flat present. Nick tears open the paper and it’s exactly what he thought it was, a CD, but it’s a burnt one and not anything John picked out at the store. There’s a track listing written on looseleaf paper tucked into the front of the case. He hasn’t even listened to it yet but knows that he loves it - John actually had decent taste in music. A mix CD meant that John had probably risked downloading Limewire on one of the school computers in the Georgetown lab, and that he had to be thinking about Nick as he assembled it.

“Thank you,” Nick says, meaning it. He grins at John, thrilled that he was given anything at all.

*

That night after work, Nick pauses in his doorway. “You can crash in here if you want,” he says, holding his door open. John doesn’t even take a moment to decide, grabbing his pillow and following Nick into the bedroom. He hasn’t put clothes on all day, still lounging around in a t-shirt and pajama pants from the night before.

Nick kicks off his jeans, slides into bed and pulls the covers back. John gets in beside him, keeping his eyes on Nick and staring at him for what seems like a long time, creeping closer but never venturing a touch.

Nick can feel John’s warm breath on the back his neck. He turns over so that he’s facing his friend. Nick licks his lips.

John leans closer, his eyes darting up to Nick’s as if to ask permission, and he leans in another half-inch to kiss Nick, closing the gap between their mouths. His mouth is soft and gentle at first, searching, like he’s seeking a reminder of the way their bodies fit together.

Satisfied that John won’t push away, Nick puts his arms around John. It’s been a few months since they’ve fooled around, but soon enough instinct kicks in and he just feels… safe. He remembers feeling invincible with John; precious, fleeting moments. Now those moments felt like they might not be entirely fleeting after all.

“I thought about you,” John murmurs, voice low like he’s making a confession.

“Did you?” Nick asks. “What did you think about?” he presses, when John doesn’t answer right away.

“Thought about your mouth,” John replies, his voice hushed. 

Nick had no idea if this thing between them was going to be just a college fling, some kind of dirty dorm room secret, no matter how much it often felt like something else entirely. So he relishes the spark that he feels when they kiss again, sexy and slow, and delights in the tingle in the base of his spine.

Nick can feel John’s hand at his hip, bringing them closer together under the sheets. His dick bumps against John’s erection, throbbing in response.

Nick touches John’s hip softly so he’ll lie back on the bed. “Thought about your hands,” John continues. “Your tongue.” 

“What else?” Nick moves down his body. “Tell me.”

“Fuck, dude, I thought about your mouth on my dick. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Nick grins. “Can I -” Nick asks, motioning to John’s boxers. He nods feverishly.

“You better.”

Nick divests him of his pajamas to give him an eager blowjob, holding down John’s hips, digging his nails into the skin, leaving little crescent moon-shaped marks on his pale flesh. John jerks into Nick’s mouth, unable to keep still.

“So this is what it takes to get you to shut up,” John declares with a twinkle in his eye. Nick’s thick lips are stretched over John’s cock and John is immediately obsessed with the sight of him. 

Nick pulls off to bite the pale flesh of his thigh before returning to his attention to John’s dick.

John arches his back, clinging to the sheets below him. It’s been so long since John’s been touched that he’s pushed to the edge in a matter of minutes. Nick swallows when he comes, frowning around the sour taste.

Blissed out, John throws his head back on the pillow. “Shove over,” Nick says, nudging him aside so that he can take up some of the pillow next to him.

Shoulders pressed against each other, they fall asleep in minutes.

*

By the third night, John doesn’t need an invitation to sleep in Nick’s bed. 

They take advantage of the fact that theres’s nobody to walk in on them anymore, sleeping in until almost one o’clock in the afternoon. They both wake up slowly, stretching out under the covers and trying to rouse themselves for the day ahead. John turns to Nick and sidles up to him. “Oh, hello.”

John climbs on top of him, bestowing Nick with a sleepy, kiss. He tangles his fingers together with Nick’s, pressing him down against the bed so that he’s pinned under John. 

John dips his head to lay kisses on Nick’s neck. He drags his hips real low, grinding against Nick to gauge his interest. _Oh, he’s interested_ , John thinks, when he feels the hard line of Nick’s cock pressing against his own. He thrusts against Nick, painfully slow. 

John feels his cock straining against his boxers. He reaches one hand down between them to press the palm of his hand against his dick, applying pressure, feeling it jerk under his hand. He does the same to Nick, giving him a good grope before twining his other hand in Nick’s hair and grinding their hips together again.

They rut against each other until John decides to slip his hand between their bodies and into Nick’s boxers, wrapping his fingers around Nick’s dick. Nick arches up into the touch, pumping into his fist, John occasionally making fluorishes with his thumb.

“Harder,” Nick requests, and John acquiesces. He has to stop to tug Nick’s boxers further down when they get in his way, returning his attention to Nick as soon as possible. Nick’s hand wraps around John’s where it’s working his dick. He strokes him off with familiar ease until he’s spurting all over their joined hands. 

Nick’s eyes glaze over a little, cum-struck. John kisses the sigh from his mouth and twines their cum-covered fingers together again, bringing Nick’s hand to press down on his dick, hard. Nick gets the message and starts to work his hand up and down his cock, jerking him off. 

John stifles his moan when he comes. 

After they pull apart, Nick grins at him. “Will you let me make you breakfast?”

John cocks his head. “Only if you wash your hands first.” He looks at Nick with an amused smile. “Seriously?”

“What do you want? Fried egg? Scrambled?”

“Look at you,” John breathes fondly, impressed.

Nick forces himself to get up, throwing the covers back. He stretches, then grabs his t-shirt off the floor. 

A few minutes later, John slogs out of bed to follow him. He pulls on a pair of Nick’s sweatpants and a pair of blue socks, heading toward the hall.

John sneaks up behind Nick, leaning his wiry figure against the doorframe and crossing his arms against his chest. He watches Nick cook at the stove, a smile on his face. It’s absurdly domestic. John loves it.

Nick turns and motions to the table with his spatula. “Sit,” he commands. 

“Thank you,” he says when Nick sets a plate down in front of him. “This is great. You’re great.”

“Stop it,” Nick says, turning to hide his smile, but proud anyway. He joins John at the table a minute or two later with a plate and a shaker of salt.

John brushes his sock-covered toes against Nick’s bare foot under the table. Nick steals a glance at John to see if it was an accident or not, but John just shovels a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

“Guess what?”

“Tell me.”

“Why won’t you ever guess?” Nick crosses his arms. “I’m going to start doing some stuff at Little Man.”

John looks up from where he’s scarfing eggs down. “Really?” he asks, a smile growing on his face. Little Man was one of the local improv groups. “That’s fantastic!”

Nick shuffles over to the coffeepot, pleased that John is pleased with him. He pours two mugs of coffee and hands one to John. He empties two raw cane sugar packets into his own cup. “It’s something.”

“Your first New York gig,” John says, almost in awe. He knows John just… gets it. He knows what it means. “So when do I get to meet your big New York City friends?”

“Because I’ve made so many of them during the six weeks I’ve been here and been job hunting.”

“Fine. I’d rather spend my time with you anyway,” John says, sipping his coffee. He holds his coffee mug up in a toast. “Cheers - New York, New York.” 

“It’s a hell of a town.”

*

Tuesday was a bright, beautiful morning in early September. John is sitting in his math class at Georgetown University in Washington D.C. when the first airplane hits the World Trade Center in New York City. 

_Holy shit_ , he thinks, when the professor tells the class what’s happened. She turns on the television set in the corner of the classroom and flips it to the news. It’s not until John sees the familiar New York City skyline that he gets it together and it hits him —

“Nick,” he thinks, but he must’ve said it out loud because two of his classmates turn their head to look at him. John looks down and realizes he’s standing up - _when did that happen?_

He stoops and scoops his messenger bag up off the floor beneath his desk. The UCB theater was only two miles from that building. Nick could be anywhere in New York City.

John fumbles in the bottom of his bag for the Nokia cellphone his parents had given him over the summer. He turns it on (he barely uses the thing after all) and dials Nick’s number, a series of digits he knows by heart. It rings, and rings, and it rings again - and then he hears Nick’s voice, but his gratitude turns to fear when he realizes that it’s only his voicemail message.

John runs a rough hand through his hair as he tries to take a steady breath. If he could just get to three deep breaths he might be able to calm down. 

He peers in the door of the classroom. Everyone is still watching the TV set - they’re not going anywhere soon. He turns and strides across campus in the direction of his dorm.

When he gets back to his dorm, he passes a student lounge where a group of students is watching the news. The images on screen must be on repeat, he thinks; it looks like the same thing he saw before. He hears murmurs as he walks past the doorway, something about a second plane. In the fifteen fucking minutes it took him to walk back to his dorm, there’s been a second fucking plane.

He walks faster. 

John drops his key as he tries to get his door open. Once he’s inside, he lurches back against the closed door and punches in Nick’s phone number again. Still nothing.

He paces back and forth across his room, looking at the phone in his hands, willing it to ring. It remains silent.

John thinks about packing a bowl with some of the weed he’s got stashed away, but he’s too stressed, which is - well, _that’s_ never happened before. So he just holds the phone in his hands, staring at the screen.

Frustrated, he chucks it across the room. It bounces once and rolls under his desk. After a minute he stands up, scuttling across the room to retrieve it. He couldn’t risk missing a phone call from Nick.

He sits at the edge of the bed with the phone in his hands and he waits. 

Forty-six minutes later, the phone rings, the default Nokia ringtone blaring. John picks it up right away, pressing the button with a shaky finger.

“Nick?” he asks, his voice croaking. 

“John? John? Can you hear me?”

“Nick,” John says. His heart swells when he hears Nick’s voice on the other end of the line. “Where are you? Are you safe?” John sounds out of breath and not like himself. 

“I’m okay,” Nick tells him, and John sucks in a deep breath. “John, what about you?”

“What do you mean, what about me?” John asks.

“They’re saying it’s a terrorist attack. Did you forget you live in the nation’s capital? There was another plane.”

“A second one, I saw -”

“No, John,” Nick interrupts. “Not here. A plane hit the Pentagon. Like ten minutes ago. Look out your window.”

John goes to the blinds and pulls them apart, looking out the window as Nick had demanded. He sees a plume of black smoke curling up into the sky.

“What the fuck do we do?” John asks, panicking. He feels like throwing up. Nick is two hundred miles away but somehow in almost exactly the same position right now. John always wants to be close to him but right now the feeling is so bad that it’s unbearable.

“We wait until it stops,” Nick says, for lack of any better ideas.

“Don’t hang up the phone,” John says, feeling stupid as he asks. He lies down on the bed, on top of the covers. 

“Sure,” Nick agrees. Nick keeps his television on mute and relays the news to John, describing the pictures on screen and telling him any breaking information. Sometimes Nick falls silent, and John listens to the sound of his breathing instead.

“I want to see you,” John blurts.

“Is that a good idea?” Nick asks. “I don’t think I could even get out of the city.”

John swallows. Why did Nick have to be the voice of reason?

“Are you gonna be okay?” Nick eventually asks him. “You should - maybe you should smoke a bowl? Or something?”

He doesn’t, but Nick stays on the line with him for a long time.

About an hour later, John gets an e-mail from the university cancelling classes for the rest of the day. He realizes he needs to call his parents, so he checks in with them and persuades them both he’s fine. His mom asks about Nick and doesn’t say anything when John’s voice wavers on his answer. 

“He’ll be okay,” Ellen tells him softly over the phone. “You’re going to be okay.”

*

John can’t actually visit Nick until a month later when he has a holiday from school for Columbus Day. Nick waits for him at the train station this time, impatient and unable to bide his time until he shows up at the apartment.

John wipes his sweaty palms on his dark jeans when he steps off the train. He spots Nick almost right away. The other man tugs him into a close hug with a hand on the back of his neck; John clings to him in the middle of the platform, breathing him in. Nick is solid and real underneath his hands, and he’s really here in front of him - safe and alive.

They take a taxi back to Nick’s apartment. Nick makes John hail the cab, nudging him further into the street.

By this next visit, Nick’s furniture has been rearranged; he’s shoved the bed up against the wall and underneath the window. Now John could hang out the window by kneeling on the bed, holding only his head (and cigarette) outside.

“How am I supposed to smoke a cigarette without waving my dick in your face?” John cries.

“There are worse things,” Nick grins.

The boys don’t go out that night, instead heating up a frozen pizza and talking all evening. 

John’s body aches with the need to be close to Nick, aches to feel Nick’s skin under his hands just to sense he’s alive and whole. Nick permits a sort of closeness he usually balks at outside the bedroom, understanding why John all of a sudden keeps taking his hand or throwing an arm around his shoulder. 

“Come with me,” Nick says after they’ve talked the evening away, leading John to his bed.

John captures his mouth in a kiss. John puts an arm around Nick’s shoulders and pulls him in close. He fits perfectly, nestled under John’s arm. 

“It’s been a while,” Nick says. 

“I haven’t forgotten what you like,” John claims boldly, fisting a hand in Nick’s curls tight enough to make him wince. At the same time, he arches his hips so they brush against Nick’s. Nick grunts and pins John down, kissing him furiously.

He wraps a hand around John’s wrist, dragging his thumb across his pulse, and places the arm over John’s head. He does the same with John’s other arm, pausing to take off his shirt before pinning John’s wrists down. One hand bracing John’s wrists, he puts the other on John’s throat, peppering kisses at his jaw. He can feel the steady thump of John’s pulse under his hand.

Nick dips his hand into John’s boxers, closing his fingers around John’s dick. He strokes him until John’s moaning. “You feel so good.” John wraps his arms around Nick. He scratches his fingernails down Nick’s spine. John can’t get enough, can’t take his fill of Nick. “I want more,” John says in between kisses, rocking his hips up.

Nick reaches into his nightstand with an unsteady hand and pulls out a condom. He doesn’t do anything with it, just sets it on top of the nightstand. He moves back to John to place kisses along the long column of his throat. John lifts his hips up off the bed to grind their erections together. 

John picks up the condom, rips the foil open, and hands it to Nick.

 _They’re really going to do this_ , he thinks, and then Nick is guiding John to his knees, canting his hips at just the right angle. John hides his face in his elbow. 

Nick opens him up slowly, starting with just one finger. He squeezes John’s backside with his free hand. John makes a rough little noise in his throat when Nick adds a second finger. Nick adds more lube. He works his fingers in and out until John is moaning and pushing his pale ass back on Nick’s hand.

“That’s right, you little slut,” Nick whispers, unable to help himself, watching John fuck himself on his fingers greedily. He’s so fucking warm around his knuckles.

“Come on,” John asks hungrily. “More.”

Nick adds another finger, moving cautiously, terrified he might hurt John. He slips his fingers in and out, crooks them like he saw that guy do that one time he tried watching gay porn. 

Nick’s dick is so much wider than his fingers; he’s got no idea how it’s going to fit. He squeezes out some extra lube just in case. He starts out slow, working himself in inch by inch. He can hear John try to suppress a hiss, and he trembles beneath him.

“Are you nervous?” Nick asks. John’s cheeks flare pink, heat rushing to his face. “You don’t need to be. I think.”

“Never with you,” John replies, and Nick doesn’t know how to answer that so he just pushes into John harder. He groans when he bottoms out, taking Mulaney’s hips in his hands for better control, pulling him back on his cock again and again.

John starts thrusting back, with vigor, so Nick keeps up until John’s movements start to get sloppy and urgent. It’s not at all like sex with a girl, but in some ways it’s better - not because it’s with a dude but because it’s with _John_. He can’t believe he’s fucking Mulaney right now.

“Dude, you feel really fucking good,” Nick says, and it’s not sexy at all, but it’s true. Fuck. They’re having sex. Not just making out, not just jerking each other off… sex. The real deal. 

His hands tighten where they’re curled around John’s hipbones, and Nick changes his angle so he can thrust even deeper. John clenches around him. It’s almost overwhelming. After a few more thrusts, Nick’s hips stutter and then he’s coming inside John, collapsing against his back. John’s chest is heaving.

“Whoa,” Nick says, after pulling out.

John’s still bent over, breathing hard. He looks wrecked. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair is askew where Nick ran his hands through it. Catching his breath, he realizes John still hasn’t moved.

Nick strips off the condom and chucks it into the garbage. 

“John?” Nick reaches a hand out, skims it across John’s back. John is sucking in deep breaths. Nick places his hand on the back of John’s neck. John shudders. “You okay?” he asks, concerned, rubbing his hand gently over John’s neck. Slowly he starts to move, warming up under Nick’s touch like a butterfly under a lamp. _Holy shit_ , Nick thinks, did he break Mulaney? 

Nick squeezes his neck, and John looks up at him through half-lidded eyes. He slurs a little. Nick keeps a hand on his neck, a comforting reminder that he’s still right there. He slowly rubs John’s neck with his thumb until John’s ragged breathing starts to calm down. Eventually he sucks in a shaky breath and lets his muscles relax, collapsing completely against the covers. After a minute he rolls over onto his back. 

Nick pushes a strand of his sweat-soaked hair aside. “Please tell me I didn’t hurt you,” Nick says, concerned. John just shakes his head. “You want to shower?” Nick asks, searching for anything that might help John return to his usual self.

John nods and Nick gets up to start the shower, making sure the temperature is warm enough for him. 

Nick makes sure he gets in safely, but then, surprisingly, John holds an open hand out for him to take. 

John starts to loosen up under the spray of the water. Nick watches him as he stands under the steady stream of hot water, letting his body get soaked. Nick reaches a hand out, presses it flat against John’s back. 

John turns his head - he has a small smile on his face, and Nick thinks _okay, there he is_. Nick lets his hand fall, feeling each ridge of John’s spine with his fingertips.

John, realizing he’s hogging the water, spins them around so Nick can get wet. He ducks his head under the spray to kiss Nick. Once his hair is soaked, they swap places again. John soaps up his chest. “I’m gross,” he complains, feeling sticky.

“You’re not gross,” Nick says. “You’re amazing.” Nick drags a finger through the soapy bubbles, down his smooth stomach, across the angular jut of his hip. He slowly moves his hand lower, closing his fist around John’s cock. “I just want to make you feel good,” he says, gripping John’s member in his fingers. John grips Nick’s shoulder to steady himself. 

“You do,” John says. Nick doesn’t know if he means physically or emotionally or what since he still seems kind of stuck in his head. It encourages him nonetheless, and he moves closer. They’ve been doing this - whatever this is - for long enough to learn what the other likes and what might send them running. John almost slips on the tile, but Nick steadies him. He gauges his pressure by the gasping breaths John keeps making, stroking harder when he sees John screw his eyes shut. 

Water streams down their chests, sluices between their bodies as Nick steps closer. John hisses when Nick turns his wrist just so. Nick grips him tighter, then twists their bodies around so that John’s out of the spray of the water. He kneels in front of John and takes him in his mouth, sliding a hand up to grope John’s ass while he swallows him down.

Nick can feel the hot, steady stream of water falling against his back as he sucks John off. John is eager but respectful, never pushing Nick too far, letting him dictate the pace. His fingers press down hard on John’s hipbones. John’s eyes drift closed.

Nick pulls off his dick and John jerks himself off, hand moving faster and faster until he’s coming across Nick’s chest. 

He holds a hand out to help him up, which Nick gratefully accepts. John dips him under the water to rinse him off, trying to kiss him and getting a faceful of water. He tugs Nick closer, pulling him out of the way with one hand on his neck. “That’s better,” he says, giving him a long, closed-mouth kiss. 

Nick holds him for a minute, then steps out first to give John a moment to himself. He towels off and dresses in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, and John does the same a minute or two later.

John follows Nick back into bed after fumbling in his pants for his cigarettes. 

John leans against the wall beneath the window, his long legs spread out on the bed in front of him. His left hand holds a cigarette, which he holds to his mouth periodically, and his right hand is tangled in Nick’s brown curls. Nick’s head is in his lap, where John is running his hand through his hair, smoothing out tangles and scratching his scalp aimlessly. 

“Please don’t drop ashes on my face,” Nick mutters, sleepy. 

John grins and takes a long drag of his cigarette. Holding it out of the way, John leans forward for an upside-down kiss. 

“I would never,” he promises, running his hand along the scruff that Nick now had along his jaw. He’s never felt up someone’s beard before, which is a weird thought to have. He likes Nick’s new look. He looks smarter, more dignified, a little older, although he’s not sure if it’s the stubble or new eyeglasses. 

Drowsy, Nick turns his face into John’s palm.

John stubs his cigarette butt in the black ashtray that had found its way to Nick’s windowsill just for him, then lies down in bed with Nick.

Nick feels a touch at his side, and then John is sliding closer to him under the covers. Nick can feel John’s warm breath just below his ear, and then John is pressed up against him instead of lying beside him like they usually do. 

John puts his arm around Nick’s waist and gives a tug, pulling him closer, and then Nick’s back is flush right up against every single part of John’s body. Nick feels John’s breathing slow down and even out until he thinks he’s passed out behind him. It’s warm and comfortable, but most of all, possessive, and those are the last thoughts that cross Nick’s mind as he drifts off to sleep.

*

“Let’s smoke a bowl before we go to the train station.”

Nick finds a bag of weed from a drawer somewhere and tosses it to John to grind up. “I haven’t actually smoked in here yet,” Nick confesses, opening the window.

“You waited for me? Nick, I’m touched,” John expresses in amazement. He packs the bowl with nimble fingers, scooping the ground up buds in a heaping mound. He always manages to pack twice as much as Nick can get into the exact same piece.

“Well, not quite,” Nick laughs; it’s just a coincidence that he’s yet to christen the apartment. There’s something appealing about having more firsts with John, though, instead of lasts. Graduation a few weeks ago had put a weird air of finality about things, and Nick was pleased that John had carried through on his intention to visit Nick in the city. 

John passes the bowl and a blue Bic lighter to Nick, who pushes it back to him. “Nah, greens are all you. Light it up, bro.”

John takes a massive hit and passes everything to Nick, who takes an even bigger hit, sputtering a little.

“So you’re not going to believe who I have a philosophy class with,” John starts. He doesn’t really wait for Nick to finish before he continues. “Tina.”

“Tina?”

“Tina. My neighbor from last year. Get this - on the first day of class, we’re leaving the classroom and walking down the hall. And I hold the door open for her, and she goes - _goodbye, phantom_.”

“Goodbye, phantom?”

“That’s what I said! Out loud.” Nick looks perplexed. “So she looked me straight in the eye. _’You know, Phantom of the Opera?’_ And then she walks off.”

Nick doesn’t get it. “I don’t get it.”

There’s a hint of pink in John’s cheeks. “Because of all the _moaning_ ,” he specifies, and Nick looks horrified before bursting into laughter. 

“Jesus.”

“There are two people in the world who know what I sound like when I come,” John complains, “and one of them is going to be staring holes in the back of my head every Wednesday night for the foreseeable future.” He can’t stop shaking his head.

“Rotten luck, buddy.”

*

Nick calls John’s house in Chicago on Christmas. When he picks up the phone, Nick does this weird voice that throws John off at first, but pretty soon he realizes who it is as the call gets more and more outrageous.

John’s never been one for lengthy phone calls, leaving that to his sister Claire in high school, but he finds himself kicking back in his old bedroom, tying up the phone line for over an hour while he listens to Nick do different voices and impressions.

“John!” his mother calls to him from the bottom of the stairs. “I would like to use the phone to call your Nana sometime before Epiphany!”

“That’s my cue,” John says wistfully. “See you soon?” he asks, instead of wishing Nick happy holidays.

“You know it.”

*

After the holidays and the start of the new semester, John comes to visit Nick on a long weekend. The train is delayed by snow, so he doesn’t get into the city until late at night, and passes out from exhaustion on Nick’s sofa almost as soon as he arrives.

In the morning, John gets up first and pads sleepily to the fridge. There’s a bottle of white wine, a bottle of vodka, a bottle of orange juice, and a bag of shredded cheese. John taps his fingers against the door of the fridge before closing it with a heavy sigh.

Instead of returning to the sofa, he goes into to Nick’s room.

“We need to get groceries,” John says to Nick, climbing into his bed.

“We?”

“You know what I mean,” John says, giving him a playful shove.

Nick takes him to a little bodega instead of a grocery store. John hassles him about a shopping list when he starts to realize that Nick is a little more conceptual about his grocery shopping. Nick wanders down the aisles, stopping to pluck items and stick them in John’s arms. He grabs a loaf of white bread, a jar of peanut butter, a pack of Oreos, and two cans of Chef Boyardee ravioli.

“I believe we’ve got the entire food pyramid represented now,” John snarks.

“You’re the one who was hungry,” Nick says. He stacks a banana on top of the stack in John’s arms just for spite.

“Would you like any other phallic fruits or vegetables?” John asks, following Nick. Nick ignores him.

When they get to the counter Nick reaches for his wallet, but John beats him to it. He pays for the food and takes all of the plastic grocery bags from the clerk.

On the way home, John tells him a story about the Salt and Pepper Diner. His story lasts the entire walk back to Nick’s apartment. Nick can’t remember laughing so much in months.

Nick unpacks the bags and John makes them sandwiches, which they take into Nick’s bedroom to eat on the bed. Nick flips through the TV channels until they find something they can make fun of.

John gives Nick half of his peanut butter sandwich when he sees that Nick has scarfed his own down. Nick realizes after he finishes eating it that something is different.

“Did you just put bananas in my sandwich?” John nods. “You’re so fucking perfect,” Nick says, delighted by the attention to detail, and John leans forward to take Nick’s index finger in his mouth, sucking it clean.

John makes Nick’s blood run hot. He looks devastatingly handsome, especially with his cheeks hollowed out around John’s finger. Nick leans forward to kiss John. He tastes like peanut butter and Nick’s hands are sticky on John’s chin. He licks into his mouth, kissing the taste off his tongue.

Nick unzips John’s hoodie vigorously, throwing it to the side. John raises his arms so Nick can pull his t-shirt up and over his head. Nick runs his hand along John’s spine, feeling the ridges and grooves, then moves his hand lower to swat John’s ass. John smirks.

John puts their plates on the floor. Nick attacks him playfully when he reaches back up, trying to wrestle him to the bed.

It’s been days, weeks, months since they’ve held one another. Sometimes they go so long without seeing each other now that Nick’s not sure what it’s going to be like when they hang out again.

“Show me how much you missed me,” Nick says in a flirtatious voice. John backs Nick up onto the bed so he can grab at his belt buckle. John can’t resist a challenge.

John yanks Nick’s jeans and boxers down to his knees, doesn’t even bother taking them all the way off. He licks the tip then takes him in his mouth.

The pressure of John’s pink mouth on his dick drowns his thoughts out. He keeps running his hands over Nick’s thick thighs and Nick should feel insecure but he just feels… good. It’s the first time they’ve fooled around since they had sex, and Nick thinks about seeing if John is interested in trying it again and then John moves his tongue _just so_ and Nick’s mind just whites out. John was getting pretty good at this.

John sucks him off with gusto. He’s got a cocky look on his face when he pulls back to lick his lips, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Nick. Nick pushes his head back down onto his dick so he doesn’t have to look at John’s smug face.

Nick grabs at John’s shoulder when he’s about to come, and John swallows every last drop.

The two lie quietly on the covers catching their breath until Nick’s stomach starts to growl.

John holds his wristwatch up to see what time it is. Four in the afternoon.

Nick makes them breakfast for dinner. His cooking skills have improved since his college days and he’s actually kind of eager to show off his new talents. He fire up bacon, eggs, and makes a few pancakes. He burns the first few but sneaks them into the trash before John can really see them. 

John watches Nick appreciatively, taking in the sight of him standing at the stove in a band shirt and boxers, flipping a pancake. It’s frighteningly domestic, but it’s a sight for sore eyes. If he weren’t so hungry, he’d hug Nick from behind to distract him.

“Thanks, doll,” John says, just to get a reaction. Nick hides his smile.

They talk about life and school and everything they always talk about, and it’s blissfully normal until there’s what seems to Nick like an abrupt change in course: “Nick, there’s something I should tell you.” Nick cocks his head, wondering what _that_ could possibly be the prelude for. “I’m seeing someone.”

Nick’s jaw drops, and he has to remind himself to close his open mouth. When he’d made the decision not to be in a relationship with John (a decision he sometimes felt he was continually making), he knew it wouldn’t mean the end of this thing between them. They had chemistry and a substantial friendship built on solidarity, laughs, and good blowjobs. But never once did he think that his resistance would mean that John might go looking elsewhere.

“Is this a bit?” Please don’t let it be another dude. Nick thinks he might be sick. “Is it a -” 

“Her name is Jess.” Nick nods, unsure what to say or do. “I guess you would say we are in the middle of a fight.”

“Is that why you’re here?” he asks. 

John throws a hand out, presses his palm against Nick’s chest. “Nick, _no_.” He seems horrified that Nick might even consider that his motivation for the trip. Things with Nick are…. complicated. “I don’t think I’m going to be in the relationship by the time I get back to Georgetown,” John observes. “It’s not working out.” 

Nick feels a pang of jealousy even if she is about to be John’s ex-girlfriend. Nick looks down at his hands. He feels blood rushing to his head. This was the last thing he expected from someone who just had his dick in their mouth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disappoint you. Or keep it from you. I… I’m just sorry, Nick.”

The pancake on the skillet is sizzling uncomfortably. Smoke starts to curl up from the edge. Nick fumbles with the spatula, flipping it before it can burn too much more. 

“Nick?”

Nick turns the stove off. He brushes his hand against the edge of the skillet accidentally but barely feels it, pulling it back and looking at the pink skin with a strange detachment.

“Nick?”

“What’s up, buddy?” Nick says, turning. He braces himself and looks John right in the eye.

John seems to falter under the weight of his gaze, looking younger than Nick remembers. “Nothing,” he says, clearing his throat.

Nick fixes him a stack of pancakes, trying not to be loud with the cutlery. “Here. Eat.”

Sitting across from each other at the table, they eat in a less than companionable silence. John drowns his pancakes in syrup.

John takes their dishes when they finish, washing the plates in the sink. Nick tries not to watch him, tries to look anywhere else instead, but can’t stop himself from watching the muscles of his back shift with his motions.

Nick and John get drunk on red wine together that night, getting thoroughly wasted while watching _Donnie Darko_. Nick goes a little overboard, drinking more than usual and polishing off an entire bottle on his own. He’s still not sure what to make of John’s comments about his girlfriend. 

John spreads his long legs out on the sofa. Eventually he lets them fall in Nick’s lap. Unable to help himself, Nick slides his thumb along John’s ankle. That’s as far as it goes. 

When the credits roll, Nick excuses himself to the bedroom, and John sleeps alone on the sofa.

*

Nick starts keeping his hands off John after that. 

John starts to notice the way Nick shies away, Nick thinks, and he’s got a disappointed look in his eyes. He knows John wouldn’t want something like this to come between them, but it feels in some small way like a kind of betrayal. 

Did Nick really have to share John? 

*

Quiet goodbyes are a first for the two of them. Nick sticks his hand out for a handshake at the same time John tries to put a hand on his shoulder to bring him in for a hug. It’s one of the few times they’ve misread each other’s body language. 

Normally Nick goes with John to the train station to bid him farewell, but John calls a cab this time. Nick hovers in his doorway, saying nothing as he watches John walk down the hall.

Nick brews a pot of coffee once he gets back inside. He walks past his refrigerator, then does a double take. There’s a note held up by a Georgetown Alumni magnet, a sheet of notebook paper folded in half that wasn’t there this afternoon. 

Nick opens it. There’s a joke written on it about Nick’s upcoming show, followed by three short words: “break a leg at Little Man”. John signed his name at the bottom, a big loopy J followed by three short, rounded letters. 

Nick folds the letter. He’s about to throw it in the trash can when he hesitates, having second thoughts. He turns back to the fridge and puts the note back where he found it.

* 

Nick thinks about John almost every day. Sometimes he misses him a little too much, he thinks. He’s never thought of himself as a lonely person before, but he can’t help but notice that he doesn’t smile nearly half as much when he’s without John. 

Nick hooks up with a woman that he meets at a bar over spring break when he realizes that John won’t be coming to town like he had naturally just assumed he would. He fucks her again in the morning before leaving her apartment and never calls her again.

*

By the time Easter rolls around, things must have changed, because John camps out on Nick’s couch for almost a week. Nick doesn’t ask any questions.

When Nick goes to get ready for bed the first night, John catches him in the doorway to his bedroom. John leans into him like he’s about to kiss Nick. He hesitates, pausing just before he reaches Nick’s mouth. He looks down at Nick’s lips before closing the distance between them. 

Nick holds his hand out, presses it flat against John’s chest and pushes back. “We shouldn’t,” he says self-consciously. He’d felt guilty about being with John while was technically with someone else, even if they had been “on a break”, but he found himself unable to resist the indescribable pull, that familiar spark he feels when he’s with him.

“I dumped her,” John blurts out. “I’m not -” John swallows around the rest of the sentence. 

Nick doesn’t need to hear it anyway. He nods and surges forward, claiming John’s mouth with his own, the stupid imaginary boundary between them dissipating. Nick’s mouth is hard against John’s, a little too firm, like he’s scared John might take it back. Their teeth bump.

“Easy,” John says. John’s hands move to Nick’s hips instinctually. They slide underneath Nick’s shirt and settle against bare skin, his thumb brushing against the areas where Nick was just a little bit soft. He takes Nick’s bottom lip between his teeth. 

John kisses him slow and gentle, like it means something. Nick doesn’t have time for that. 

He starts to kiss John like it’s a demand, crowding him against the bed. He curls a hand around the back of John’s neck at the same time John tries to heave Nick up and into his lap. Nick straddles him, settling against his thighs.

John’s hands graze the bare skin above Nick’s belt, and he occasionally scratches his nails down Nick’s side. He gets bold when Nick kisses him like he’s trying to prove something, digging his nails into Nick’s lower back hard enough to leave red marks. Nick just slips his tongue further into John’s mouth for a series of slick kisses.

Nick bites a bruise onto John’s neck, just below his Adam’s apple. He works the soft skin with his teeth before kissing the tender spot. That would serve any girl right who looked twice at John. The mottled skin peeks up at Nick from just underneath the edge of John’s collar. 

“Get on your knees,” Nick says, crawling off of John’s lap. He tugs at John’s shirt, practically throwing him off the bed. John does as he wishes, sinking to his knees in front of Nick. Nick reaches down and pulls John’s shirt over his head, tossing it to the side. John reaches forward and undoes Nick’s belt buckle, sliding it slowly through the loops. Nick undoes the button on his jeans and the zipper for him, allowing John to slide them down over his hips and off his legs.

Nick likes the look of John from this angle, he thinks, but at the same time something in him wants to use him, to ruin him.

He takes John by the throat, squeezing for just a second, then tilts John’s chin up with two fingers. “You know what to do,” Nick tells him. His voice comes out tougher than he intended, hard around the edges.

“Please?”

Nick shakes his head. Not good enough.

“Will you please let me taste you, please?” 

Nick’s dick twitches and he cants his hips forward so he can slide the tip into John’s mouth. He caresses the bow of his lip with his finger before parting John’s lips wide, sliding his dick all the way into his mouth. He shallowly pumps it in and out a few times, then lets John go to work.

John’s mouth feels like an apology, the way he works his tongue and lips around Nick’s member. It’s sweet but firm, and John’s done this for him enough times now that he knows what Nick likes, what makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. But Nick wants something more, craving something harder. He doesn’t mean to but he starts bucking into John’s mouth, moving with more intensity than John seems he can handle. 

Nick pushes at John’s hands, making him drop them loosely at his sides. He begins giving shallow thrusts and controlling the pace, making sure John doesn’t move his arms.

Nick is overcome by the desire to come on John’s face as he works his dick in and out of John’s plush mouth. He tightens a hand in John’s short brown hair and _tugs_ , jamming John’s face into his pelvis and choking his thick cock down his throat. He can hear John gag around him, lips spread wide, trying to suck in air through his nostrils. Nick keeps him pressed there, hand fisted in John’s hair, until he feels his cock bumping against the back of John’s throat.

When John pulls off his red cock, there’s a strand of spit that hangs between the tip of Nick’s dick and his mouth. Nick wipes it away for him, tilting John’s head up. He looks down at him with enamored eyes, pupils blown. 

Nick grabs his floppy hair again, mussing it up just because he can, and pushes John down so hard that tears start to make their way out of the corner of his eyes.

Nick knew he could take it like a champ. He decides he wants to teach Johnnie a lesson.

Nick slams his hips up, fucking John’s mouth as fast as he can take it. He can feel the tip of his cock hitting John’s throat each time as John tries to stay silent. Nick uses his mouth, thrusting into him with no grace until John starts to cry or suffocate or something. Nick doesn’t know but there are tears streaming down his face and there’s a very wet noise coming from his throat.

Groaning, Nick pulls his dick out of John’s mouth. He can feel himself getting closer, feels a tide surging up within him, and he tries to aim for Mulaney’s mouth as he jerks his own cock to completion. His come lands in a messy stripe across John’s eyebrow and closed eye instead, dripping down over his eyelashes and onto his cheek. 

Nick uses his thumb to wipe the come from John’s face, dragging his finger through tears and the sticky, lukewarm liquid.

John slips his tongue out and works it around Nick’s finger, licking the come off diligently. Nick can feel his already soft and tender dick jerk.

Nick wipes the rest of his come off John’s face with John’s undershirt, moving it carefully across John’s pale skin. He smoothes down John’s wild hair until he catches his breath. 

John’s mouth tastes like his come when he kisses him, which is equal parts gross and hot. Nick kisses him until he can’t taste the saltiness of his tears anymore, until John settles under his touch. 

John closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Nick’s knee. Nick keeps his hand in John’s hair, scratching his nails lightly across his scalp until his blood pressure slows down. Nick pulls his own shirt over his head and tosses it over his chair, then pulls Mulaney up and into his bed.

Nick unzips his cargo shorts carefully, kissing each inch of skin he reveals as he tugs them down John’s slender legs. Working his way back up John’s body, he presses his mouth to the inside of John’s pale thigh.

He leans up to press a kiss to John’s mouth, loose and languid, missing all the intensity of their last encounter. John tries to put his hand on Nick’s neck, but Nick just takes his wrist and pushes it away, above his head. He spreads both of John’s arms above his head with one hand, pinning both his wrists down.

Nick draws his free hand across John’s chest, using it to stroke a nipple before dragging nails across John’s side. He can feel goosebumps underneath his fingertips. 

Nick kisses him again, John going slack and letting him lead the way. John lets Nick savor his body, lets him slide his fingers across every inch of his bare skin before taking John’s dick into his hand. Nick keeps pressing little kisses to John’s skin, surprising him with the location of every one. He spreads out John’s entire body slowly until he’s heavy with want, lighting up with every touch of Nick’s to his skin.

After he’s sure John is under his spell, Nick gets on his knees and takes John’s swollen and leaking cock into his mouth. He takes his time, pulling his lips away every time he can sense that John is getting closer to orgasm. Every time John starts to heave and jerk against him, he focuses his attention elsewhere; John’s temple, the ridge of his hip, the spot just above his left knee. He draws the blowjob out into worship; giving John his full attention. 

Nick takes him apart until John has no words; he’s reduced to gasps and incoherent babbles. The only thing he can manage is Nick’s name when he finally comes, now sobbing for an entirely different reason than before.

“Shhh,” Nick comforts him, wiping the tears away from his face. “Do you even know how good you are?”

Nick lets John calm down before suggesting he roll over. His limbs are like jelly but he lets Nick guide him onto his front. 

Nick starts massaging his shoulders, finding more tension than he expected. He presses his fingers harder into the flesh there, trying to work out the knots. 

After having spent more than an hour attending to John, Nick’s achingly hard again, just from having his hands on him. He tries to make it less obvious, tries to lift his hips away from John even as he’s working at massaging his tense lower back, but there’s no way John hasn’t noticed. Nick tries to shift again, but John just arches his hips up, rubbing his ass against Nick’s erection.

Nick thinks it’s just a natural reaction, a habit, but then John does it again and he’s sure it’s no accident. Nick grinds his cock against the crack of John’s ass. His balls clench.

“You don’t have to,” Nick tells him, but Nick’s wanted to fuck him again ever since that first time. 

John says the magic word again, _please_ , and it sounds like honey dripping from his lips. Nick’s hands are on his hips in an instant, guiding him into position.

John’s on his knees in front of him, holding himself up on his hands. Nick presses his hand in between John’s shoulderblades, knocking him down so he’s bent forward on his elbows. He watches John curl his hands in the sheets, baring his ass for Nick.

Nick coats his fingers liberally with lube that he retrieved from the nightstand. It’s cold on his hand and John flinches when it drips against him.

“Lemme heat you up, baby,” Nick says, more confident now than the last time they tried this. Nick takes his time opening John up, moving his fingers so slow that John makes demanding whimpers. 

Once he’s three fingers deep, crooking his fingers so hard that John arches his back and practically sings for him, then he pulls them out, leaving John empty and begging. He’s learning just how to play John, and he can tell that he likes it, can tell that he likes giving up control to Nick as much as Nick likes taking it.

“I think I’m ready,” John whines.

“I know you are,” Nick laughs, leaning down to kiss John’s hip. He positions John exactly how he wants him with hands on his hips, John moving willingly at his motions. “I’m just having some fun with you.”

John’s thighs tremble when he pushes inside. 

Nick keeps quiet, thrusting into John with slow, deliberate movements. 

It’s like their first time in that it feels earth-shattering in some way, but totally different in that all the urgency is gone. It’s just Nick and John moving together, shifting in the dark.

It’s true, John is _so good_ , so good it addles Nick. Not just the way he feels under Nick’s hands, but his soul, his very being. Nick’s never met someone so funny, so kind, so smart. Handsome, too. John makes him dizzy with want.

John shivers under his touch so Nick covers his body with his own, bearing down and pressing his chest again John’s sweat-slicked back, still making hard thrusts that drive to John’s very core.

Nick nuzzles the short hair at the nape of John’s neck. “I love you,” he says against his skin without thinking, and the words disappear between their bodies before Nick realizes what he’s done. 

John reaches for his hand, knots their fingers together where they rest on the mattress. It’s the only sign he gives that he heard Nick, if he heard him at all. 

Nick holds him down and keeps fucking him until he can’t take it anymore, his hips setting a faster pace and pounding into him. John’s going to feel this in the morning, no doubt, it’ll be impossible to forget as sore as he’ll be. He gets rougher, closer to the edge, slamming his hips into John’s. Nick grunts when he comes inside John, his body sinking against the other man’s. He pulls out, moving off of John and sagging against the bed.

It takes John a moment but he stretches out his limbs, then rolls over. He draws Nick to him by a hand at his waist.

John kisses him without lifting his head off the pillow, in no hurry at all. Nick’s mouth is so warm, and he eases it open with broad strokes of his tongue against his lips. The mellow slide of Nick’s lips against his own is like velvet. 

He brushes his fingers against Nick’s cheek briefly, looking into Nick’s eyes with a besotted gaze for just a moment before tugging the covers up around them. He guides Nick’s head to his shoulder. 

They sleep in each other’s arms all night, resting peacefully until the morning, when the sunlight peeks through the bottom of the curtains and the radio alarm goes off. Nick shuts it off as quickly as he can get to it, scrambling for the off switch so they can get just a few more minutes of shuteye.

Nick wakes up first. He’s about to cover his eyes to block them from the ray of sun when he sees John sleeping beside him, still blissfully passed out, limbs akimbo. Nick feels kind of weird watching him sleep, but he can’t turn away. 

Something curls inside his chest that he can’t name, but he likes the way John looks with his peaceful expression, head on Nick’s pillow and Nick’s blankets cocooned around him. One more stupid thing to add to the list of shit he likes. It’s starting to be a pretty long list. Half of it consists of stuff he never wants anyone to find out. John’s grin when he thinks he’s done something clever. The way he licks honey off his fingers at breakfast. The way he gasps Nick’s name - even his sly but knowing smile every time Nick sits beside him in a public place. Even the way John’s long fingers strapped his watch on his wrist every morning, a sight Nick shouldn’t be so privileged to see. When did he become such a sap? 

They shouldn’t even have this time, waking up slow and unhurried at whatever pace they wished instead of trying to rush apart before anyone could spot them. As much as he tried he couldn’t shake the image of Drew walking in on them in the dorms, couldn’t move it from his mind. They were lucky it was only Drew and not someone else, one of Drew’s frat boy friends, or worse - Nick’s father. They could’ve ended up with the shit beaten out of them. 

Nick drinks in the sight of John, his long eyelashes against his cheek, the pale freckles smattering his nose and cheekbones, the steady inhale of his breath. John’s lips are pink and full… Nick remembers what it was like to kiss them last night, the way John’s mouth had opened up just for him. 

He’s gazing at John with a sort of dreamy, distracted look when one eye blinks open. Nick is caught in the act. John closes his eye again without saying anything, so Nick keeps staring. When John does the same thing a minute later, one eye peeking at Nick, a faint smile plays at his lips. “Why don’t you take a picture?” he recommends slyly.

Nick had asked his parents for a digital camera for Christmas but he remembers that he might have a disposable camera left over from a friend’s wedding. He fumbles around in his nightstand and pulls out a waterproof camera. He checks the number on the front. Three photos left. He turns back to John, sets up the shot, and snaps a candid photo of John sprawled on Nick’s bed. John looks up at him through his dark eyelashes. 

Nick scrolls the little wheel. Two photos left. John shifts and Nick sees a hint of the reddish-purple bruise he had sucked into John’s collarbone. John sees him looking and his hand flies to his neck. “What? Do I have something -?” That’s when John sees it for the first time. He tucks two fingers into the collar of his tee and tugs it down so he can see Nick’s handiwork. Nick gasps quietly at the sight and snaps another photo, framing it so just the lower part of John’s open mouth is in the shot, along with the two fingers pressed against the pink skin. He cuts the shot off just below John’s collarbone.

Amused, John catches his wrist and yanks him down to the bed. Nick drops his head against John’s shoulder. John snatches the camera from Nick and holds it above their heads to snap a photo of the two of them. 

“How do you know if we’re even in the picture?” Nick laughs.

“Trust me,” John says, scrolling the rewinding wheel. It settles on zero. He sets it aside so he can take Nick’s cheek in his hand and give him a good morning kiss. “You hungry?”

“I could eat,” Nick says. “I know a good place for bagels around the corner.”

“Well, then.”

Nick gets out of bed first. John peers through one open eye at Nick’s behind when he bends over to pull on his boxers. John wolf-whistles, and Nick turns abruptly. It takes forever for them to get dressed; John sneaks his hands out and grabs him by the waist, wrestling Nick back down to the bed.

It doesn’t start sprinkling until they leave the deli. John carries a black umbrella and looks rather dandy, and Nick holds their lunch in a paper bag (a bagel sandwich with a fried egg, Saint-André triple-crème brie, and salami for Nick, and nova with cream cheese for John). When the rain starts to come down, John holds the umbrella over both of their heads, giving him a reason to stand as close to Nick as he possibly can.

It storms the rest of the day, providing the boys with an excuse to lounge around Nick’s apartment and do absolutely nothing but touch each other. Raindrops pelt the windows, drowning out the sounds of their bodies.

*

John finds himself going to visit Nick more than he ever expected, taking the train up whenever Nick invited him to the city and sometimes even when he didn’t. Every time there was a three-day weekend - and sometimes even when there wasn’t and John just decided to skip class - he found himself on the train, heading back to see Nick again and again. 

Nick’s going to have to start charging him rent.

*

For the second year in a row, Nick Kroll spends his birthday in New York with John after John gets out of school for the summer. John’s still not old enough to go to any bars yet, so they get 40s and hide them in paper bags. They sit side by side on a bench in a park in the middle of Alphabet City watching the people that pass by, commenting on anyone interesting as they drink, riffing on anything they considered strange human behavior. Between the kids on the playground, the homeless guys sleeping on benches, joggers, and people just on their way, they had plenty to talk about.

They’re both tipsy when they stumble back into Nick’s apartment. 

John catches Nick’s wrist when they’re undressing in the bedroom.

“Wait a minute,” John says. “It’s your birthday.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So tell me what you want,” John says earnestly, which gets Nick’s attention. A greedy look crosses his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” John confirms. Nick “Anything.” He nips at Nick’s jaw. He walks Nick backward until they’re falling onto the bed. He crawls between Nick’s knees.

“I thought you already gave me my present,” Nick says with a grin, referring to the little moleskine notebook John had given him earlier that day. John knew Nick was bad at writing things down but he thought it might be useful in Nick’s preparations for stand-up. 

“One of them,” John says, nuzzling against the short stubble on Nick’s chin. “Did you only want one?” He kisses the curve of his jaw, and Nick’s hand flies up to his hair to keep him pressed there for a moment. He can’t risk John looking at him if he asks for what he really wants.

“Will you -” Nick turns, pushing his mouth against John’s hair. “Tell me I’m good. Tell me I’m yours,” he speaks into it quietly.

John’s kiss on his neck turns languid and gentle. He pulls back so he can look at Nick, gazing at him with a devoted look in his eyes. If he wasn’t the center of John’s attention before, he certainly is now. “Oh?” Mulaney asks, surprised but pleased. Nick doesn’t know if he expected something filthy or what. Nick bites his lip, nervous. Will John let him have this for a night? 

“Take these off,” he says to Nick, tugging at his belt loops. “You are, you know,” he confirms, nipping at Nick’s earlobe. “Handsome.” He reaches his hand down between their bodies and takes Nick in his hand, making a fist around him, jacking him painfully slowly. “Charming.” He gives Nick the most agonizing handjob he’s ever received, emphasizing every word with a gentle squeeze. “Talented.”

“Mine,” John says against his ear, and Nick bucks into John’s hand embarrassingly when John whispers the sweet word against his skin. He feels inadequate under the weight of John’s gaze, almost unable to bear it. With every focused movement Nick knows this is no game. John means every word he says. They can pretend at this but it’s not really pretend, is it? This is what the two of them could have, what they could really be, if Nick could ever get over himself and give himself over to John completely instead of worrying about labels. If he could give himself permission to be happy.

Nick knows the only reason he even dated that girl earlier this year was because Nick wouldn’t tell him yes, couldn’t give himself in completely. With every murmur in Nick’s ear, he knows John would be with him one hundred percent if he gave the word (knows that John knows he _can’t_ ). What he doesn’t know is why Mulaney lets him break his heart like this, over and over again.

John moves down his body and takes him in his mouth. His tongue sweeps over Nick’s cock. “Fuck, your mouth,” Nick moans, biting his own forearm to shut himself up. John’s licking and sucking was sending him into overdrive. He slides a hand into John’s hair, thumb brushing against the shell of his ear. 

Nick thinks about fisting his hand in John’s short hair, pulling him down harder and fucking his throat. How sweet it would be to gag John on his cock. What’s equally satisfying is the way that John is nuzzling at his dick like he’s been trained to do it, taking him down with sheer ambition. His hair is floppy and wet with sweat. Nick nudges it away from his forehead. John is fucking cute. 

“You’re all mine, aren’t you?” Nick pants, stretching John’s mouth open with his thumb. John gurgles around his cock. Fuck, John turns him on like this. John licks at the head of his cock, then takes him down his throat again. John scratches his fingernails down Nick’s hips and then Nick is coming down the back of John’s throat. John swallows every last drop.

Nick pulls him closer so he can kiss him, licking the taste out of John’s mouth. He nips at John’s upper lip. John lets Nick pull him into a deep, slow kiss.

“You’re really good at that,” Nick observes with a smirk.

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment instead of the dig you might or might not have intended it to be.” 

Nick’s arm slides effortlessly around his shoulders, bringing him closer. Nick’s turning another year older with John Mulaney in his arms. _I am so fucking lucky_ , he thinks. What on earth did he do to deserve this?

*

The day after Nick’s birthday, he wakes up around four o’clock in the morning. It’s pitch black outside, and John is missing. 

Nick finds him leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer in his hand and two empty bottles in front of him. His brown hair is hanging in his eyes and the top two buttons of his shirt, which is slightly too big for his skinny frame, are undone. John looks rough; worse than he should given the rather mild nature of last night’s proceedings.

“You okay?” Nick asks. He puts a hand on John’s lower back as he slips past him to grab a Yuengling from the fridge. John leans into his touch.

“Nick, I’ve gotta tell you something,” John blurts out nervously. He’s fidgeting with the peeling label on his beer bottle.

Nick freezes. The last time John said something like that, he wouldn’t say the results were good.

“I’m going to Ireland.”

Nick laughs at first, still half-asleep, and then he sees that John’s not laughing. John looks serious. “Are you serious? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Study abroad,” he explains. “For a semester.”

The air feels like it goes out of the room. Nick just got John back and he’s losing him already. What a hell of a birthday present. John really had to stop doing this, stop making Nick feel… _things_ and then turn around and dump some big, catastrophic news on him. For someone with such great comedic timing, John’s timing could certainly suck.

“Well… I hope you… I wish you luck,” Nick finally musters. He’s got no idea what to say, feeling weird about it. “I don’t know what to say, man.” It’s not that he doesn’t want something good for John. He wants _everything_ for John. Maybe he could just… look for it a little closer to home? A little closer to Nick?

John takes a long swig of his beer, then puts the bottle down and winds his arms around Nick’s waist. The younger man smashes his face against Nick’s chest. Nick’s still not sure what else to say so he doesn’t say anything at all, just brings his hand up to John’s hair.

“I’ll be back soon.” John whispers the words against Nick’s neck. “It’s just a semester, you know?” He closes his eyes. “I could write you,” John suggests, and Nick’s mind conjures an image of a soldier writing home to his girl, an image that he quashes _immediately_. Despite this, he still finds himself unable to turn John’s offer down.

“You better.” 

Nick takes a drink of beer before putting the bottle on the countertop. He slips a hand under John’s baggy t-shirt, trying to focus on having John in front of him instead of on losing him for a semester. Even if John is able to visit over the summer, it would still be at least six months before Nick could see him again. 

Nick tells John to have a good time, trying to be happy for him, but in his head the words _don’t go_ repeat themselves like a mantra. 

_Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go._


End file.
